if kisses were snowflakes, I'd send you a blizzard
by EnglishCivilWar
Summary: Lance was staring at him, his face a perfect picture of uncertainty and hopefulness. Open, though, so open. He wore his heart on his sleeve. Keith felt his chest tug. Lance was too open. Somebody, someday, would use that against him.


**Author's Note:** This was written for the Voltron Exchange on AO3 a month ago, as a gift to user songsofthespring. Enjoy!

* * *

Their first kiss happened within six months.

It had been six months of longing, six months of stolen glances and pretending to fight with him, six months until Keith finally broke and smashed their lips together.

Keith had pictured it; the softness of Lance's lips distracted him when Lance spoke, that little tug at the corner when he smirked. It drove Keith crazy. It built up in his head, up and up and up until one day, one insignificant day, he couldn't take it anymore.

He couldn't take it.

Vaguely, he registered pressing Lance down on his bed, hearing Lance sigh underneath him. Had he just barged in here?

Keith couldn't remember.

His attention was on Lance. On Lance's gentle breaths, his soft moans, on the fact that his fingers were threaded tight into Keith's hair, and that meant he felt the SAME.

It meant he wanted Keith, too.

It meant Keith wasn't alone.

He wouldn't be alone anymore.

Lance pulled back suddenly, panting. "Dude, I had no idea - you, you like me, too?" His cheeks were flushed, but his voice was shy, unsure.

Shy. Lance was SHY.

Keith felt something tremble in his chest. Something huge, yet quiet; something that made his heart beat faster and tears prick in his eyes and laughter bubble up from his stomach.

Something that made him lean forward and give Lance another kiss, this time on his forehead.

Then his eyelids.

Then his nose.

Then his cheeks.

Then, when Lance wouldn't stop giggling, his lips.

* * *

Their second significant kiss (truly significant, not everyday and arbitrary) came three weeks later.

It had been three weeks of tentative hand holding, of furious blushing when Lance purred in his ear, of giggling secretly against Lance's lips as he pulled him into his lap, sitting in the pilot seat of his lion.

The best three weeks of Keith's life, in fact. If he was being honest.

And then, suddenly, violently, they were ripped from their floating honeymoon and thrust into a different heat, the heat of battle.

But this wasn't the fuzzy warmth Keith was quickly growing used to.

This was scorching. This was fire that burned in his throat and chest, fire that turned him red and raw from the inside out. Fire that tore through his gut like a knife when he saw the Galran claw wrapped tightly around Lance's neck.

He felt his heart leap into his throat, pound agony through his lungs, and this was new. A new feeling, one he hadn't experienced before.

His vision turned white as Lance's neck turned red.

 _NO._

There was static. Static and blurriness and the cold, cold metal of his sword against his palm, and the sickening sensation of swiping a blade through flesh, of driving it into tough meat and bone.

There was screaming in the back of his mind. There was, but the sharp static rang louder.

And then Lance was in his arms and spilling blood against his suit, and Keith was running, running so fast his legs turned numb and his lungs shriveled and died.

 _This is fear,_ he realized. _THIS._ He had never come close to it before, but here, racing into his lion at the speed of light and feeling Lance's pulse slow in his throat, Keith suddenly knew what it truly meant to be afraid.

He knew what it meant to press a kiss to the lips of the person he loved and not know if he would ever do it again.

He realized he knew what it meant to love. And as he pulled back from Lance's cold face, he realized love was a terrifying thing.

* * *

But Lance healed, and they kissed some more, and it turned less eventful. It became normal; it melded with everyday life, and Keith grew used to the feeling of Lance's cheek against his mouth as they passed by each other in the morning. The feeling of warmth, that comforting knowledge that there was someone there TO kiss.

There was one day where they should have kissed, but they didn't.

One day where Lance was lounging on his bed, and Keith filled out paperwork by the desk, and Lance took a breath and said, "When this is all over, when everything's over, I want you to come live with me and my family."

Keith's hand, which had been scratching away at the paper, froze.

His whole body froze.

Behind him, he heard something rustle. He heard it, but it registered in his brain only faintly.

"Keith?"

He turned. Lance was staring at him, his face a perfect picture of uncertainty and hopefulness. Open, though, so open. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

Keith felt his chest tug. Lance was too open. Somebody, someday, would use that against him.

 _Will I be there to see it happen?_

Waves of numbing cold rolled through his brain, coating his thoughts in thick sheets of ice. His jaw worked, but no sound came out. Something was shutting down in his mind. Something was closing him off, something deep, deeper than his consciousness.

"No," he said.

There was a moment of silence.

Lance blinked. His face twisted with hurt. "No? Why not?"

Keith shuddered involuntarily. "No." His voice was hollow. He felt like a machine. A broken machine. "I don't want to."

"You don't - What?" It would be better if Lance got angry, if he started yelling, but his voice only became smaller and smaller. His eyes were perfect circles, his brows knotted with tension. "I don't get it, you - don't you, you don't - love me?"

 _Of course I do._ With everything he had. But the words faded and died on Keith's tongue, because if he said it, it would be real, and then…

And then it would be real.

And Lance's hurt would become Keith's own. His pain, his sorrow, his happiness, his love - they would be Keith's burden. And all of Keith's -

He couldn't unleash that on Lance.

He couldn't subject him to that.

And he couldn't agree to this, promise this - There was so much weight behind it. Too much. So much.

Lance deserved better.

Keith shut his mouth. His gaze fell to the carpet, which had a stain on it.

He could feel Lance's eyes on him. The hurt, the confusion. Tension grew with every uncomfortable second that passed. Every second that Keith didn't answer him.

Lance let out a sound. A small sound, less like a squeak and more like a hiccup. It was so tiny, yet it pierced through Keith's chest like an arrow.

Keith stood up. He paused for a moment, feeling blood pound in his brain, then stumbled out of the room.

He didn't know if Lance was still watching him.

* * *

Days passed. It was like Keith was wading through a constant fog, his body going through the motions of life automatically. He ate, he slept, and he trained, but his mind had shut off. He was in hibernation.

He avoided Lance.

He avoided him, but he didn't know why. He knew the moment he left Lance's room that he needed to turn right back around and apologize, but he didn't, and now so much time had gone by that he _couldn't._ It had built up in his mind too much.

He guessed that meant they had broken up.

 _Really?_

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the corridor window. _Yes._

 _Does Lance even know?_

Of course Lance knew. Lance was probably furious. The fact that Keith had barely seen him over the past week confirmed that Lance wanted nothing more to do with him.

Not that Keith blamed him. Keith was being a coward. He wouldn't want anything to do with himself, either.

The glass was very cool. Keith closed his eyes and pressed closer.

"Keith?"

Lance. It was Lance's voice.

Keith froze.

"Keith, dude, come on. Stop."

Stop? Keith's eyes frantically flicked from side to side. "Stop what?" he said, his voice rough and low.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. He jumped and tried to pull away, but Lance was already turning him around, forcing Keith to look him in the eye. His voice had been steady, but Keith was surprised to see his appearance. His skin was a dry and dull brown, shadows under his eyes. It was unnerving.

"We have to talk about this. You can't keep avoiding me." His voice was calm, but there was something underneath it, something that clawed at Keith's throat. Something like resignation, like acceptance and sadness.

Keith's heart sped up. No, no, he couldn't have that. He couldn't have Lance thinking like that. "I...I didn't think I was avoiding you." He coughed. "I was giving you space." _That's a lie._

Lance looked at him for a long moment, his face unusually serious, and Keith suddenly felt like Lance had lived a million years. His expression was drawn and tired.

A moment passed. Lance took a breath. "Keith, if you don't...want to do this, I get it. I understand." He searched Keith's face helplessly. "But you have to TELL me. I can't read your mind, I can't just magically know what you want."

Keith's jaw worked, but no sound came out. "I want you," he whispered finally.

It wasn't what Lance was expecting, Keith was pretty sure. Lance's eyes widened with surprise, blinking a few times. "Really?" he asked. His lips barely formed the word.

Keith nodded fervently "Of course. It's just…" He waved his hands around vaguely, then stopped. "..Too much."

"Too much, too soon?" Lance clarified.

Keith nodded again. Nodding was easier, he found, because words weren't needed, and words weren't Keith's strong point.

Lance smiled gently. "That's okay, dude. Totally okay."

"It is?"

"Duh." Lance carefully came closer, resting his hands on Keith's arms. "You just gotta _tell_ me these things. If you're uncomfortable, or if you don't want something, or if you're not feeling it. It's fine, I just have to know."

Keith's breath rushed out in one smooth arc. He felt pressure behind his lungs, in his head. "I'm sorry." It came out strangled, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay." Lance closed the space between them, bent ever so slightly to press a kiss on his forehead. "It's okay. We're okay. Whatever you want to do, that's what we'll do."

Something warm pooled in Keith's stomach, unwinding the knots of tension that had been building there over the week. _It's okay._ It was okay that Keith wasn't sure if he wanted to come with Lance after this was over. It was okay that he didn't know what would happen in the future.

It was okay that love scared him.

It was okay because Lance said it was okay, because Lance _made_ it okay. His presence, usually so energetic, was now calming, like the salted breeze of the sea.

They had all the time in the world to figure things out.

So Keith closed his eyes and kissed Lance, their third significant kiss, because everything was okay, and Lance was warm and smelled like cinnamon.


End file.
